Errors in Magizoology
by Bottled Fame
Summary: Over the years at Hogwarts, Prof. Snape has watched a number of DADA instructors come and go, but one will occupy a special place in his memory.
1. The Nightly Supper

**1) The Nightly Supper**

It was on a pleasant day in August, or in other words it was some years before the Potions Master of Hogwarts was going to experience classes that contained a student who lived. During summer, Snape's occupations at Hogwarts mainly concerned the preparation of classes and the maintenance of Pomfrey's supplies. He had come back from holiday with an idea about improving the potency of the _Hemikrania_ potion against migraine, which now turned out to come in quite handy, as an overly voluminous request for headache potions appeared on the worklist. A familiar, soft knocking pulled Snape out of his meditation over stocks and expiration dates.

He knew the knocking and he could also guess the reason for it: It would be Dumbledore, probably fulfilling his annual duty of introducing yet another DADA teacher to the rest of the staff. Bracing himself, he crossed the office and opened the door.

Indeed.

"Good afternoon, Severus!" Dumbledore exclaimed brightly. "I hope we aren't disturbing you?"

"_We_" apparently involved a woman in plain black robes, who was standing silently in the shadow of the Headmaster's undulating appearance. She was of average size, with a rather short haircut and unimpressive looks. Her age was hard to tell. She had a bit of an unhealthy shade in her complexion, too. Snape didn't know exactly into which character box he should put her: _Wallflower_ somehow was a too feminine term to fit her features.

"No, not at all, Headmaster." He stood aside. "Please come in!"

Dumbledore smiled happily as he glanced around, and the woman's eyes kept darting from shelf to shelf, as if she were trying to memorize as many jars as possible.

"Well, as you might already have guessed I am guiding our new DADA teacher through and around the castle," said Dumbledore. "May I introduce: Miss Agnes Kranewitter, an expert on Trolls...Severus Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin..."

She drew her eyes away from the walls, stepped forward and offered a handshake. "Pleased to meet you, Professor Snape." She presented the half of a wee smile and projected a cool, perhaps even slightly mocking air of politeness. She spoke with a harsh accent that emphasised the consonants.

He bowed a little. "My pleasure."

Her handshake was short but firm, and besides her being addressed as _Miss_ it was her voice which gave Snape the confirmation that she had to be about his own age, perhaps even younger. She was utterly unfamiliar to him, though. He would have to offer her to be on first-name terms; everything else would only be awkward.

Dumbledore went on with explaining Snape's status as the Head of Slytherin, his duties and how to reach him most easily in case. It was, sadly enough, an already well trained double conference and Snape was automatically throwing in his "please don't hesitate to contact me...", "if there is any problem with students from my house, it is important that you communicate...", and "_Defence against the Dark Arts_ encompasses all subjects, so if you need a potion..." into the other one's well-defined pauses.

Miss Kranewitter's grey eyes were alternatingly fixed on both of them during the speech. She nodded occasionally, and hardly spoke a word.

His visitors soon left after he had brought all necessary information to the new teacher's attention, and Snape closed the door behind them with a slow exhale. This new collegue of his didn't look at all like a promising sparring partner in repartee, which predicted another dull year. But she was odd enough that he brought himself to listing Miss Kranewitter under _benign – for the time being_.

In the evening he set up a cauldron and became so engaged with the recipe that it was only when his proceedings came to a sudden stop that he realised what time it was.

Standing in front of the shelf which displayed the dried parts of poisonous plants he frowned at his own forgetfulness. How could he possibly get an ounce of bittersweet nightshade at three o'clock in the morning? Snape glanced back at the simmering cauldron and sighed. He would interrupt the procedure, write a note to Sprout and slip it under her door. She often checked the greenhouses before breakfast, so there was a chance that he could add the leaves after a halt of four or five hours.

Snape strolled through the dungeon corridors and across the pitch-black entrance hall – it was a new moon and morning wasn't dawning yet – then tiptoed to Sprout's chamber. Crouching, he pushed the piece of parchment past the narrow crack under her door. Having this accomplished, he was about to rise up again. But then he sensed someone else, or something, behind him in the corridor. Only people who knew Snape well would have noticed the split second of freezing before he decided to pull his wand out and aim it at whatever-it-was behind him. His movement was quite fast, and he turned around smoothly… to face a smaller figure in plain black robes, who was smiling mischievously at him from out of an appropriately dimmed light cone. As if this alone wouldn't suffice, the figure was carrying a big plate of steaming spaghetti and tomato sauce.

"Miss Kranewitter!" Snape exhaled audibly and relaxed his wand hand. "What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same, Mister Snape," she replied, sounding very pleased with herself.

Snape inadvertantly jerked his head and gazed at Sprout's door. "I was passing Professor Sprout a request for bittersweet nightshade," he explained, at the same time marvelling why he felt the need to explain at all.

"Oh, all right then," she said lightly, "I really have to hurry now. Good Night, Mister Snape!"

She resumed her way. When she came abreast, he remarked "You know the way to the kitchens?"

Kranewitter's eyes were glittering with mirth. "Why, would you like to know it, too?"

"Isn't it a strange hour to have pasta, anyway?"

"I'd say I'm used to it, Mister Snape, don't you worry."

The woman positively grinned, and when she moved on Snape wondered what had become of the other, rather restrained Miss Kranewitter. "The elves are usually not very talented with the sauce."

She turned around, astounded. "Really?"

"Yes, indeed, it's always too sour."

"Hmmm..." she eyed the serving and gave a short laugh. "Well, it doesn't look as if it were going to kill me. Thanks for the warning, anyway, Mister Snape."

"Severus."

"Come again?"

"I thought it would be better to be on first name terms. Everyone of the constant staff is." He sighed. "Besides, the two of us are the youngest."

"Oh, I see." She smiled abashedly. "So, I'm Agnes!"

"Fine."

"Right."

Awkwardness began to stretch in the still dark corridor. "Hrkrmm...I think I really have to get along with those noodles," said Agnes, "they are cooling down."

"Well, _bon appetit_."

"Thanks, Severus. Good night."

"Good night."


	2. A Mongolian Beast

**2) A Mongolian Beast**

Miss Kranewitter looked strikingly healthy, if not athletic, and appeared to be in a good mood as she entered the Great Hall and joined Snape and McGonagall at breakfast. She smiled and politely exchanged some phrases. She was still so different from what had been his first impression that he marvelled which person of her two appearances would be the real one.

"Sugar," Agnes said as she delightfully prepared herself a slice of toast and honey.

"Excuse me?" asked McGonagall.

"If you add a wee dose of sugar to a tomato sauce, its taste will become softer."

McGonagall stared at her in amazement. "I'm sorry, but I don't quite understand what you are talking about."

"Ah, Severus and I have been discussing the topic..." her gaze shifted towards Snape.

"...only recently," concluded Snape dryly in looking up from the Daily Prophet. "How do you know?" he inquired.

Agnes laughed. "My mother has always been very fond of Italian food. Very often she would cook pasta." She picked an egg and glanced about the offerings on the table. "Do they also have mustard, somewhere?"

"She cooked? May I ask you..."

"I'm a Halfblood," Agnes said crisply.

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Aha...!?"

Agnes chose to not elaborate. When Snape turned back to his newspaper, he noticed that McGonagall was smiling oddly at them both. "So, do you feel comfortable here, Agnes?" she asked.

Agnes smirked. "It's a fantastic castle, Professor. And the surroundings are beautiful…," she took her knife and beheaded the egg with a well-measured strike, "...wild and romantic!"

McGonagall looked pleased, and pushed back her chair to leave. "Oh, that's good! Now, if you will excuse me…"

Agnes and Snape continued their breakfast in silence.

"Could you by any chance tell me how safe the lake is?" asked Agnes when she had finished.

"It depends," replied Snape slyly, "are you perhaps going to take students out on excursion?"

"No, I want to swim in it."

Snape, who was indecisive whether that statement was supposed to be a joke, folded the paper and pointed up to the cool blue of the enchanted ceiling. "It's autumn."

"Well?" she edged on, obviously unmoved by the revelation.

Snape chose the no-joke option. "We are in the Highlands. The water temperature will be less than pleasant."

"Oh, that...I figure I'll be hardy enough."

"As you see fit," remarked Snape. "However, I don't see what's the point of plunging in lakes."

"Swimming is my favourite sport. I'd miss it." Her eyes swept over his frame appraisingly, but she didn't comment on what she concluded. "With all those locked up, compulsory-schooled teenagers that we are going to encounter, I think one should train a bit in order to cope."

Snape simply stared at her blankly, then he shrugged and helped himself to another mug of coffee.

"Can I have the newspaper?" she asked.

"Take it."

"Thank you." She scanned the pages from the back to the front and in the end she uttered a sound of disappointment. "Don't they have any riddles?"

"I'm afraid no. You'd have to get the Quibbler for that. Or a Muggle newspaper."

"Does anyone here read Muggle newspapers?" asked Agnes. Snape shook his head. "I like their riddles, because…" she hesitated.

"Because they are logic?" assisted Snape.

"Right! I wasn't sure if you would be offened if I said so. How do you know, anyway?"

"My father was a Muggle."

"Ah!" She thought for a moment. "Would it make a great stir if I subscribed to a Muggle paper? Is that even possible?"

Snape pursed his lips. "I'd volunteer to assist you - provided you agree to pass the riddles on to me everytime you are done with them."

"That's a deal. Would the _Sunday Times_ be okay for you?"

"Of course." He would ask the Headgirl, a Muggle-born from Ravenclaw, to provide her address for subscription and arrange the paper's further delivery by owl.

Agnes rose from her chair. "Does anything noteworthy live in the lake?" she asked.

"Noteworthy?" Snape paused. "I guess nothing which the average DADA teacher wouldn't be able to handle."

She narrowed her eyes, realising that he was challenging her. But she wouldn't give in easily.

Coming back from the Great Hall, Snape found a bunch of flourishing nightshade twigs in one of Sprout's vases, standing on his office desk. He prepared the plant's leaves and added them to the draught, then he went to London for purchases and returned to Hogwarts only late at night. When he checked for the simmering cauldron, the ridiculous thought occurred to him that he might want to get up again in the wee hours and have a control trip into the kitchen corridor. This mind lapse left him somewhat astounded about himself.

* * *

The next morning found Snape in the Great Hall, where he was pleasantly reading the Daily Prophet over a steaming coffee mug, with his legs stretched out underneath the table. It was the boring season for media. He flipped through the rather elaborate chronicles and was about to scan the arts section, when the paper suddenly folded backwards to reveal a head with wet, untidy hair.

"You!" said Miss Kranewitter sharply, "you are reading the newspaper!"

"Well..." began Snape, arching a brow in defence.

"If you have time to read the papers, it means that your potential is idle," she snapped. "Please come with me."

Snape didn't move as he took in Miss Kranewitter's somewhat dishevelled appearance. "You swam in the lake?" he asked softly.

She scowled at him. "Indeed, I did."

He cleared his throat. "Well, uh….do you need my aide for anything in particular?"

"Come and see it yourself."

Snape sighed and followed her. On his way through the Entrance Hall he passed by Flitwick and McGonagall, who were obviously curious. He shrugged in reply and put on a quizzical expression, and then he hurried out.

They went down the hill and approached the lake with billowing robes and without a spoken word, but on the way Snape noted that Agnes was walking with a stiff gait.

At the shore she removed her shoes. Then she opened her robes. Snape gasped. The sudden memory of another DADA teacher emerged from the depths of his mind, of a DADA teacher whom he had seen swimming, too, and she had been...it was already too late to get away. Snape closed his eyes. He heard legs treading the water. _This is ridiculous_. He cautiously opened his eyes again and took a quick glimpse. Then he sighed with relief: She was wearing a swim suit! It was a midnight blue, plain piece. Its cut emphasised the shape of her trained legs. She sported the well-developed musculature of a long-distance runner.

"You stay there!" her voice commanded.

It took a few moments, then the water around her began to stir. What looked like some kind of green monkey emerged from underneath and glanced around with an aggressive stare in its bulbing eyes. Then it uttered an unfriendly, spitting sound.

"Oh," said Snape. From all that he remembered from his own DADA classes, he figured this had to be a Kappa. He recalled an entry in _Scamander's_ telling about fish scales instead of fur, and about blood sucking.

Agnes was slowly retreating from the hissing creature. "Here we are," she muttered, "a perfect sample of a 4X-rated fantastic beast. I didn't know that Kappas are dwelling in Scottish waters."

"Perhaps it has something to do with Hagrid living in Scotland, too," he said, and picked up a pebble from the shore. He was vaguely aware of Kappas having longlasting consideration for people who stood in connection with cucumbers, their favourite food. So he aimed his wand at the pebble and transfigured it into an elegantly shaped specimen of _Cucumis sativus_. If one wrote a name one it, the respective person would never be harmed by the Kappa. He was deeply immersed in the procedure of choosing a proper name, so he didn't notice Agnes's wee smile.  
She turned back to the Kappa and bowed very devotedly and deep. The Kappa stared at her, and slowly, very slowly, started to bow as well.

With a splash, its magical water fell out of the hollow in its skull and into the curling lake. When it realised that it had been hoodwinked, it was already too late. Deprived of its magical powers, it was an easy target for Agnes's _Stupefy_ spell. The Kappa fell backwards and was captured by the witch before it could drift away.

"Crap!" uttered Snape disappointedly.

Agnes laughed. She conjured up a basin, filled it with water and transferred the unconcious Kappa into it.  
Morosely, Snape eyed the now useless cucumber and eventually threw it away in a high arch. "This one doesn't need a soothing present anymore," he remarked on the creature, who was drifting about with a bovine expression in its flat face.

"It bit me, you know," said Agnes.

"Sorry to hear that. Seriously?"

"They prefer a delicate area. It will redeem itself as an object for class now. _Locomotor_ basin!"

They climbed back up to the castle, with the trapped Kappa floating along in midair. All the way up the two teachers had an animated chat.

"What else is in that lake?"

"I thought you'd asked."

"Well, I asked you, and you said I'd be fine! I guess it isn't a good idea to consult an English Potions teacher about Scottish lakes."

"Heavens…it was a joke! I thought you'd realise that! Didn't you ask anyone else?"

"I was told that I can trust in everything you say!"

Snape stopped dead and stared at her in surprise. "Really? Who said that?"

"Dumbledore did!"

"Dumbledore? I…well. He probably didn't know that you could be impressed so easily."

"Very nice," she said sarcastically.

"You're welcome," he retorted. They resumed their walk. After a while he shook his head. "I really forgot about the bowing trick. So simple, so brilliant."

"I believe that's why I am the DADA teacher."

They had reached the summit of the hill when the Kappa started to awake from its dizziness.

"Out of professional interest: Whose name did you write on the cucumber?"

"Why, Dumbledore's, of course!"

"What? The old man is taking a swim in there, too?"

"Hardly. But it is generally assumed that if a student is hurt, Dumbledore is hurt, too. So I concluded that if the Kappa reads his name on a present of its favourite food, it would not hurt Dumbledore and also refuse to attack any of the students...perhaps the effect would even extend to the staff!"

"I say...so much sophistication coming out from behind a cellar door," remarked Agnes dryly.

"Thank you very much." He opened the entrance for her.

Agnes directed the basin towards the stairs. "Tit for tat."

"In fact it would have been a very good occasion to test the hypothesis with you as a volunteer," said Snape. "But with the Kappa in the basin..."

"So sorry for having disrupted your experimental setup."

"This is even more sad as I have taken to the effort of writing the Headmaster's name in Japanese syllables."

Agnes sent him a frown. "You should have used the Square Script or the Cyrillic alphabet at the least."

"Why?"

"Because Kappas are much more common in Mongolia. Japanese Kappas are rare by comparison."

"But _Scamander's Compendium_ says-"

"Every compendium has its errors!" retorted Agnes irritably. She was suddenly stern. "To put the Kappas predominantly to Japan is only one of them."

"Whoa! Where'd you guys get that fella from?" Hagrid had just come out of the Great Hall. Fascinated, he placed himself in front of the basin. The Kappa was tartly eyeing its surroundings through the glass.

"You don't know?" asked Snape innocently.

"Nah, I've no idea...but he's a cute one!" Hagrid grinned and gently knocked at the glass.

"It was in the lake," explained Agnes. "I'm going to show it to the students in class."

Hagrid looked concerned. "You think tha's a good idea? I mean, t'poor fella might be hungry or even…you didn't hurt 'im, did you?"

"No, of course not!" assured Agnes, while Snape decidedly shook his head. "Hagrid, what do you know about Kappas?" she asked.

Hagrid rose to his full size and smiled at Agnes. "I don' know much, but if you get into trouble with 'im, you just have to bow, then 'e will bow too and loose 'is water and all t'magic." He shrugged. "But that's just t'basics."

Snape rolled his eyes.

"Thank you very much!" said Agnes. "If I need any help, can I just contact you?"

"Sure, you do that!" replied Hagrid and left them, not without waving and grimacing at the sulky creature as though it were his baby son.

Agnes smiled amusedly. Snape took a deep breath. "Look," he said, "I know it was my fault that you got into that trouble. It was a bad joke, or rather, it wasn't a joke at all."

"It's okay. I'm not made from sugar, anyway."

"Care for a coffee?"

"I shall be pleased!"

They deposited basin and Kappa in the Dark Arts office and went to the staff room, where they met McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout. The other's chat died down as Severus and Agnes entered. They inquired about the events at the lake and Agnes told them about the Kappa.

"Oh, you were lucky indeed!" exclaimed Flitwick with wide eyes.

"What do you mean?" asked Agnes.

Sprout looked aghast. "Did no one tell you about the lake?"

"I don't think she would have dipped a toe into the water if someone had, Pomona," remarked McGonagall.

"Merpeople have a village in its center!" said Flitwick. "They are very difficult to deal with."

"Merpeople?" echoed Agnes. She gave Snape what he had always considered to be his personal speciality: a withering look.

"Oh, and the grindylows! I don't even want to think about what could have happened!"

"It's not wise to swim in that lake," said McGonagall sternly.

"Coffee, anyone?" asked Sprout.

"For me, please!" said Flitwick. "And Severus was assisting to get hold of the Kappa!" he reiterated the events to himself.

"Sort of," said Agnes.

McGonagall smiled oddly again. "That was nice of you, Severus!"

"I have to go back to my potions, I'm afraid," he muttered, and then he fled from the room.

* * *

It's funny how your body reacts to an unexplicable event, regardless of how your brain judges the situation. Snape's heartbeat accelerated considerably when the glass jars started to vibrate in the shelves in his office, causing the air to fill with an almost inaudibly high jingle. He had been pacing restlessly, moving from one task to another, and was now forced to stand and stare.  
Sprout's emptied vase screatched in his hand, and for some reason he could not take his eyes away from the crack that ran across it and grew wider and wider until, as though in slow motion, the vase broke asunder and its parts disintegrated with a longish crackle on the stone floor.

He gasped when he realised that the room seemed to shake – it was only a faint, but most disturbing notion. _Only a minor earthquake, he told himself, no need to panic._ But his feet wouldn't share this rather cool assessment, and stumbled to carry the rest of the body towards the exit.  
His hands trembled uncontrollably, and when he had finally managed to open the door, he couldn't help but cry out in uncontrolled bewilderment: Gazing up at him with steely eyes, one hand already raised to knock at the door, the black figure in front of him radiated an icy wrath.

Slowly, the earthquake sensation subsided.

"Do you usually lure your collegues into mortal peril?" she asked. Her calm felt dangerous.

"I didn't lure you anywhere, Agnes!"

Agnes smiled cynically and tallied with her fingers. "Kappas, Merpeople, Grindylows – "

"The Grindylows are domesticated-"

"A Giant Squid!" The jars started to clink again.

"It's friendly-"

"Not to mention all the other monstrous creatures that have chosen that cursed pond to dwell in!" she shrieked. "They told me all about it, _Professor Snape_!" Her words washed over him like sleet.

"I am sorry!" he replied rather loud. "In fact I apologized once already!"

"But that was before I even knew what had been in for me!" cried Agnes with flashing eyes. Her voice was taking a run-up. "And what's worse, they...they..." she stopped and shook her head violently. "Ah, just forget about it!" She turned away and stomped off.

Snape slowly retreated into his office. What he had done, or more precisely what he had not done, on the day before when she had asked him, was now sitting on his shoulders and penetrating his brain with long, cold claws. He was suddenly aware that he wasn't any better than Sirius Black. _Well, with regard to this one case only, to be fair._ Snape didn't know what had ridden him to play such a speculative prank. He actually hadn't thought that she would indeed go and swim in there. Besides, he had dropped a rather obvious innuendo to the matter, had he not? A venomous allusion in fact, but an allusion none the less.

A hard piece of glass crunched under his shoe. Snape jerked back and looked about the sparkling mess on his floor. Sprout was very protective about her vases, especially about the blue ones. He sighed deeply and drew his wand. "_Reparo!_"


	3. The Match

**3) The Match**

The next weeks passed by uneventfully. The other teachers arrived one by one throughout August. Miss Kranewitter's presence in the castle became so nondescript that Snape didn't even need to avoid her. She rather seemed to avoid everyone else. He made an effort of redemption, subscribed to the _Times_ and arranged for the copies to be delivered to Professor Kranewitter at Hogwarts. Then came the students, and Madam Pomfrey was ordering more headache-soothing potions.

One Sunday morning he met Flitwick at breakfast and sat down next to him.

"I almost never see our new DADA teacher at meals," Snape casually remarked, while he was delivering a helping of kippers and toast onto his plate, "do you think the jinx on her post made her stop eating?"

To his surprise Flitwick started to laugh.

"What's wrong?" he asked, watching amazedly as Flitwick's eyes became watery with mirth.

Slowly, the other teacher regained his composure. "Excuse me, but it's a bit amusing that you of all people are investigating someone else's eating habits!" He raised his napkin to dry the corners of his eyes. "You almost sound like Poppy."

"And you almost sound like Dumbledore. I recommend avoiding him a bit." Snape poured coffee into both their mugs. "Where does she come from, anyway?"

"She's from the Continent," replied Flitwick. "Perhaps she doesn't appreciate the cooking?"

"Hmmm..." Snape paused. At least he had an idea now where to put that strange accent of hers. "What do you think, Filius. How long will she make it?"

"Until the end of the school year at the least, I hope." Flitwick nodded towards the entrance. "There comes the subject of your inquiry, by the way."

Miss Kranewitter was approaching the High Table swiftly and stopped directly at Snape's chair. "Good morning!"

There was the wee smile again, but she looked strained and pale. Snape observed that she was apparantly dazzled by the bright light that came down from the ceiling.

"Hello, Miss Kranewitter!" cheered Flitwick, "How nice that you join us for breakfast! It seems there is rarely occasion to speak."

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm not having breakfast today," she replied with a wry glance at the table's offerings. "I just came here because I have a request for Severus."

Snape swallowed his bite of kipper and turned to face her. "Well?"

"I need some migraine medication, but Pomfrey ran out of it. She said I should get in touch with you directly." Her voice had become small as she talked, while her complexion was slowly gaining an unhealthy shade of green.

Snape quickly rose to his feet. "We should handle the matter immediately." He had to get her away from the Great Hall, for he knew all too well that the warm smell of breakfast was a very efficient emetic when used on a migrainic person, and he figured she clearly was one.

She managed to match his pace down to his office, and as expected she had recovered a little by the time they had reached it. The chill, dark dungeons had a soothing effect on the pain. Without further delay he proceeded to a shelf, took out the small bottle that contained his latest batch of _Hemikrania_ potion, and quickly transferred some of its contents into an even smaller measuring cylinder.

"I'd rather dilute it," he explained on returning, "but I don't think you're in the mood to take in an entire glass of water."

Agnes weakly shook her head. He could tell that she would rather keep on walking, as this was something that distracted her from the nausea. "You can as well take it concentrated for once. I was going to deliver the potion to the Hospital Wing today anyway, so if you need more just contact Pomfrey."

"Okay." She regarded the white, creamy liquid for a moment, before she downed it on the spot. She then closed her eyes and leant back against the doorframe. He watched her scratching up all control to keep herself from throwing up. A few indecisive moments passed, until she pulled herself together with rigid sternness. "I think I'll better be going to my office now. Have to prepare classes."

"How long do attacks last normally?" asked Snape.

"About eighteen hours, if treated."

"And how long, if untreated?"

Agnes closed her eyes for a moment and leant back against the doorframe again. "Don't ask. Well, thanks for the potion."

"You're welcome. I do hope that the draught will strike soon."

Snape watched her go, then he clutched the bottle and paid a visit to Madam Pomfrey.

"Do your recent orders indicate that I will have to restock your share of _Hemikrania_ potion more often?" he asked her.

Potions supplier and nurse had to share some of their discreet issues, but Pomfrey was still wary. "I understood that someone needs it on a regular basis," was all she said.

* * *

Agnes Kranewitter served as a most valuable subject to the quality control of the potion, for Snape found that he could clearly determine the onset of its efficacy on her. He had checked and found that the DADA teacher had indeed kept on working for the entire day. Now, while she had still been absent at lunch, she had obviously decided to join in for supper.

Looking drained and pale, she sat down and regarded the offered dishes with diffidence. Within minutes, though, she apparantly came out of the attack along with a significant increase of communicativeness to him on private level: "I'm starving!"

She was actually talking to him, now, wasn't she? Snape watched as she was piling up a more than just decent mountain of different kinds of servings on her plate. He noted a slight tremor of her hands. But all in all, she suddenly looked rather fit again, with a complexion more acceptable than the one with which she had just entered the Great Hall. Apparantly she had recovered enough to allow teasing her a little. He looked up into the enchanted, moonless ceiling, recalled the night with the spaghetti plate in the dungeon corridor and decided to hazard an educated guess. "It's a new moon," he announced.

"Mhmmm." Agnes was too busy to even look up.

"I guess I can be glad that you're apparantly not a Werewolf," he continued quietly, "else I'd be dealing with your inquiries on a fortnight's basis."

She stopped chewing and took a moment to contemplate this. Then she picked up a piece of sausage. "Who knows. With my job, one can never be safe."

"Maybe you should consider a thorough check at St. Mungo's?"

She gave him a quick look. There was that wee half-smile again. "No need to be worried. I'm sufficiently qualified to identify an onset of lycanthropy all by myself."

Snape pursed his lips and arched an eyebrow for a moment. "I hope so."

Agnes obviously registered a deeper meaning in his reply, for his words introduced a tiny bubble of silence between them. She refilled her glass with pumpkin juice and resumed eating.

"You managed to abide a day working under migraine, and you're even swimming in autumnal Highland Lochs. I believe that makes you a tough cookie," continued Snape.

She smiled a bit wider. "Well, it's either being tough or ending up unemployed, no?"

"That's definitely a way to put it, although I wouldn't know if it also applied to your current job."

She eyed him curiously, and Snape wondered once again how much Dumbledore was not telling his novices.

"I see," she said softly, "you couldn't get me drowned, so you are plotting against my contract now!?"

"I? Plotting against your contract?" He took a deep breath. Such accusation was uncalled for after he had just saved her day. "Miss Kranewitter! You are an obstinate, resentful, paranoid,..." his hissing came to an end for he found himself lost for words.

Agnes had been receiving his outburst with wide eyes. She stared at him mutely, and her face began to twitch. Her eyes were burning. Unable to control herself, she took a deep breath...and eventually burst into a guffaw.

Students looked up in surprise, and also the teachers jerked their heads towards Agnes and Snape, with the exception of Sprout, who had overheard the entire conversation and was also struggling to remain calm. "Well," she observed amusedly, "looks as if you've met your match, Severus!"

Agnes's laughing ceased away quickly. Snape could tell from her astounded expression, that she was feeling as uneasy about that remark as he did; or was it rather the embarrassment of being caught at something unseemly, something one hadn't even been aware of doing?


	4. Extremely Dark Magic

**4) Extremely Dark Magic**

Over the next weeks, it soon occurred to Agnes and Severus that they often found themselves discussing not only _Hemikrania_ potion, but also DADA and food with each other. It was somehow inevitable to not exchange remarks whenever they met, mainly because it was – well, enjoyable to do so. They didn't meet at Quidditch or in the Three Broomsticks when there was Hogsmeade weekend, as the one place was too noisy, the other too ill-ventilated, and both of them too crowded for Agnes's liking; nevertheless the school could watch Potions Master and DADA Professor at gossip reliably and on a daily basis. This itself wasn't so unusal for Agnes, for she wasn't a person who would elude socialising, but it was definitely unwonted to see Snape chatting. The occasional innuendos dropped by collegues in the beginning of observation soon had amounted to a constant trickle by the end of October.

One day, Agnes peeked into the Potions classroom during break. "We need to talk!"

Snape looked up from a still army of Hipworth's Pepperup samples. "Need some more of my unbeatable potion?"

"No."

Her anxious expression surprised him. "Something wrong?"

"Not really. Just something to clarify."

Severus shrugged. "Well, shoot away."

Agnes shook her head. "Not here!"

He arched an eyebrow in impatience. Only a few more minutes until he would see the next crowd of students. Why had this to be so complicated? "When and where?"

"After dinner." She glanced back into the corridor. "In the backyard of the kitchens," she added, and was swept out of view again.

* * *

Severus was undecided as to whether it was an interesting experience for the palate retentive to visit Hogwarts's kitchens or if it rather was a mental ordeal of fighting one's way through a noisy, damp hall and past long-eared and alarmingly clothed creatures, who kept hurtling around small gastronomical furniture which looked too strange to be reasonably used by humans. In any case, he had never before tried that one roughly worked wooden door behind which he would find an ill-lit, messy place cramped with empty cardboard boxes and plywood cases, piled up in stacks of varied size and slopes. A pumpkinjuice barrel served as a stool for Hogwarts's current DADA teacher, who was sitting chilly, cradling a steaming mug in her hands. Another cup stood on an upset container to her right.

The inquisitive wandering of Severus's gaze came to a halt somewhere at Agnes's left. "We import our tomatoes from Poland?" he marvelled.

"You only know your food if you've seen the kitchen's backdoor," said Agnes, "want some tea?"

"Thanks!" He carefully picked up the other hot mug and sat down, too. "You know your ways in the castle quite well, apparantly."

"It wasn't very difficult to get to the source of food. I only had to ask that ghost of a priest-"

"The Fat Friar?"

"Is that his name? Anyway, I suppose he'd been a sweet tooth when he was still alive." She smiled faintly. "Now, what should we do?"

"What should we do about what?"

"Nah, you know it – the gossip! The others think, that..." Agnes stared into her mug.

"That there is something going on...between the two of us?"

"Right." She set her mug on the ground and rubbed her hands. "But there isn't, is there?"

The awkwardness of silence between two people who anticipated the embarrassing was almost solid. He felt her gaze on him and took another sip. "We never really gave cause to the apparant imputation," he replied.

"And we won't give a cause in the future, either, will we?"

Severus said nothing.

"I mean," continued Agnes, "I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, if there are any, but...Severus, this is my first post abroad, and I want to go further than that. It was too hard a work to get to where I am standing now, and I am not inclined to stop." She was playing absent-mindedly with a bunch of wood shavings that extruded from a stack which had once contained Greek grapes. "I had to do this outdoors job on Trolls for my master degree, you know, and they only gave it to me because no one else wanted to do it. My family wasn't rich or important, I have no promising contacts." She sighed. "I got that bloody job done, and I have my degree, and I want to go on."

"Who would hinder you?"

"It's just that I don't want to join hands with anybody right now. You see, I have seen so many of the other girls getting a boyfriend, and after some time they would follow that boyfriend to where he got his job, and they would marry that man and enter a house and then they...just disappear from view. You don't meet them anymore, their life changes completely, they give up their jobs or cut off their career! They probably spend their days exercising spells for mashing potatoes." She looked down at her fingers, stuck in streaks of wood shaving. "I just don't want to disappear, Severus. Really, it hasn't anything to do with your person."

He nodded and let his hands play with his mug. A rather unscottish spider had abseiled herself from the stack and was now crossing the yard, very near to Severus's feet. He noted that her endeavour was a slow and tedious one, due to the low temperatures. "Well, you're not my cup of tea, anyway," he finally said. "Which doesn't mean that I wouldn't be ready to give the bride away, if you ever met the job of your life," he added.

Agnes chuckled. "You're an understanding guy, Severus Snape."

Snape took another sip to conceal the twitching of his lips. "Career means to make sacrifices."

"They are necessary, I agree." She exhaled audibly and looked at him. "What are your plans, anyway? Would you like to go abroad, too?"

_What to say? About fifteen years of pumpkin juice and still no light at the horizon?_ "I have not decided yet. At the moment I feel quite comfortable here."

Agnes nodded. Then she said, "So, how are we going to proceed in said matter?"

He shrugged. "We could as well have our fun and play along for a while."

"You meanie! It will incense them!"

"At least it would be entertaining, in a way."

The corners of Agnes's lips curled. "You could be right."

They both rose to their feet and headed back into the kitchens. When they had left the secret entrance behind and stood in the dungeons, Agnes reached into a pocket of her robes and pulled out a role of _Sunday Times _copies. "Here," she said and presented it to Severus. "I have erased my own entries."

* * *

On Halloween they spotted the first good opportunity to play their prank. Agnes insisted that this particular night wasn't meant for parties at all, and was rather appalled by the general festivious attitude and the hollow pumpkins with their bad teeth. Snape could only agree, and was relieved that he finally had a companion in the matter of intellectually boycotting the event.

Agnes suggested an informal in the staffroom meeting after the feast and invited her fellow teachers to a cauldron of mulled claret.

"It's delicious!" commended McGonagall to Agnes. The warmth of the spiced wine had coloured her cheeks a bit, and like the others, she apparantly enjoyed the cosy atmosphere. Then she narrowed her eyes. "What is that?" she inquired., and pointed at the small, white ball in Agnes's hand.

Agnes was sitting at the table, and was rubbing the ball on a page of a Muggle newspaper. Some of the letters on it had vanished after the ball had run across them.

"It's extremely dark magic," muttered Severus conspiratively, "isn't it, Agnes?"

"Indeed," she replied. "You don't want to know the details, Minerva."

McGonagall was pouting her lips in mocked offence. "You two young crows are trying to make a fool of me!" The sight of two pairs of equally raised eyebrows made her laugh. "That won't work." With a sardonic smile, she turned away to talk to Sprout.

Agnes's eyes followed her with a furtive look. Severus smiled amusedly. He took another swig from the claret in his goblet and thoughtfully watched Agnes as she continued to erase her clues in the newspaper riddles. Her slender fingers held the eraser firmly, yet the movement of her hand was very careful as she wiped across the paper. She appeared engrossed in thought, yet still alert with regard to her task.

Privately, Severus came to admit that something was living within himself, something magical that made his heart perform little jumps and tickled the inside of his stomach whenever he met Agnes or thought of her, and this magic didn't appear to be dark at all. Still, it was extremely difficult to conquer. He looked away and met Dumbledore's benevolent gaze.


	5. Hojari

**5) Hojari**

A harsh frost had washed over the grounds, leaving behind a glittering, white blanket. The students became less and less focused on the subjects the closer they came to shore leave, spending more energy on the right to sledding down the hillside than on their duties. Corridors were humming with an expectant atmosphere. Snowballs, magically driven, kept soaring through windows which so wisely had been opened by Peeves. In addition to suffering in the icy draught, people risked slipping on the occasional puddle of thaw.

On occasion, Snape found it a relief to visit the staffroom and shut out the disquiet. He would meet Flitwick, brewing coffee, and Agnes, reading the sports section of last week's Sunday Times. She sent him a short smile. Snape took a cup and sat down in a corner.

"Ah, Severus," said McGonagall as she entered, "I guess I know your wishes for Christmas already." Obviously, she was hinting at the fact that he had just been assigned supervisory duties for the Christmas break.

Severus stared down at the table as though he was going to wither it to prehistoric debris. "I wish the houselves would, for once, spare me those crimson bed sheets."

"I think you are a bit too conservative when it comes to colours, my dear," said McGonagall, suppressing a grin.

Agnes looked up. "Crimson bed sheets?"

"The houselves pull them over the mattresses for Christmas. It's a long-standing tradition," explained McGonagall.

"Oh. Well, I think it's a cosy colour for winter."

"I think," said Severus, "that you all should leave Professor Snape alone, or else he'll do something to your coffee."

Flitwick snorted into his cup.

"That's a threat indeed," said McGonagall gravely. "I don't think there was offence meant. You won't pull a Lombard against _us_, will you, Severus?"

"What's pulling a Lombard?" asked Agnes.

"Lombard was a former DADA teacher," said Flitwick, unmovedly ignoring Snape's glare, "he was a bit of an arduous character-"

"Arduous?" exclaimed McGonagall. "Honestly, he was as nasty as a rusty nail in your buttock!"

"Well," said Flitwick, appearing uneasy with his collegue's illustrative wording, "in any case, some time around Christmas Severus found a way to…uh…calm him down. The poor fellow wasn't really himself anymore for the rest of the schoolyear."

"Which was quite the improvement. None of us saw reason to complain," concluded McGonagall.

Snape smirked.

"What did you do?" asked Agnes, eagerly interested. "Spike his eggnog?"

"Trade secret," he said.

She eyed him inquiringly. "Spooky!" she noted, and rose to her feet. "In any case, I can't believe that staying over Christmas is such a bad thing."

"So?"

Agnes folded the newspaper. "Well, seeing that I'm going to stay as well, I do hope that you are just overacting."

Snape stared. "You are staying, too?"

"In fact, there's no other place for me to go to at the moment." The half of a wee smile.

Flitwick exposed his pointed teeth in a wide grin. "See, now you'll be in good company!"

Snape had to fight down a sudden surge of happiness that startled him. "There is a faint prospect of marginally less boredom than usual, I agree."

"Boredom? Say, do you know Ludo, Severus?" asked Agnes.

Snape was mystified. "Ludo? You mean Ludo Bagman?"

"Never heard of that Ludo. I'm talking about the board game."

A small light came on very deep down in his memory, in the dark chest where he kept his unhappy childhood. "Ah, yes….I remember something about it…"

"That's good!" said Agnes, not even trying to conceal the triumphant expression in her face.

The four of them had to get back to their duties. As Snape proceeded to the stairs, he was sure that he'd overheard the word _Mistletoe_ in McGonagall's and Flitwick's ongoing conversation in the corridor. It nearly made him laugh.

Down in the dungeons it suddenly struck him: The triumphant gleam in her eyes. The Ludo game. Christmas. She was going to give him a gift!

Snape hadn't thought of gifts at all. He hadn't presented gifts for years, not since...a horrifyingly sad memory crept upwards through the deep seas of his mind, and he pushed it back immediately.

Anyway, he didn't have the slightest idea about what he could give to Agnes. He knew nothing about her. Well, she came from the Continent, was a sportive type, had worked on Trolls...the longer he pondered, the more he marvelled why he was so attracted to her. He stood frozen. _Attracted? Well, yes,_ _admit it to yourself at least, you fool._

He desperately paced up and down the office, checked the calender: Only twenty days left until Christmas. What should he do? Make a trip to London? And where to go there? Books would be an option, but then again he didn't know what Agnes liked to read. He would have to ask her. _No, that would be too obvious._ He'd rather ask Minerva or Filius. _Gad, what a situation_.

* * *

"Left or right?" asked McGonagall as Snape passed by.

He slowly walked down to his seat at the High Table and sank down with a suppressed sigh.

Agnes laughed. "That won't matter...oh, you look dreadful, Severus!"

The pulsing pain in his left temple was enhanced by the noise of supper in the Great Hall. The onset of the attack had come so fast, he only could resign to his potions for mild easing.

"Migraine?"

He stopped rubbing the aching side of his face and nodded.

"I symphathise. Didn't know that you suffer from it, too."

Severus stared at the food on the table and fought down a slight onset of nausea. He knew that he had to eat something as long as his medication was effective. "For some time, I myself had been the best customer of headache potions."

"Poor Severus," said McGonagall pityingly, "sometimes it helps if we can draw off his attention. Tell him about the shoes, Agnes!"

Severus turned his head and, with some effort, managed to focus on Agnes. _At least I'm not crawling four-legged to the bathroom anymore,_ he thought. _Talent in potions can be an advantage._ "Shoes?" he asked.

Agnes nodded. "I just explained to Minerva that in the night to the sixth of December, you should put one of your shoes outside your door."

"Whatever for?"

"It's Saint Nicholas's Night. If you have been well-behaved, he will put a present in it."

"He...?"

"Saint Nicholas."

"Saint?" Right now, he found it hard to follow things that weren't routine.

"That's something like a good ghost," said McGonagall. "White beard and all, you know."

"I see," he muttered. "And his name is Nicholas? Is he someone like Nearly Headless Nick?"

"Er..." Agnes was looking down at the Gryffindor table, where a misty figure was exposing gasping students to a view of his neck's interiors, "not quite, really."

"And I'll put one shoe..."

"Outside your door," she assisted. "Tonight!"

"Ah." Severus noted that the nausea was gone. He cautiously chose a tomato. "Left or right shoe?"

Agnes chuckled. "I will tell it to you as well: It doesn't matter which one."

"And you believe in all this?"

Her eyes grew just a little too wide. "Of course!"

He shook his head and filled his cup with tea. "What a silly idea. It will cost you some of your sleep."

"Me?" Agnes just laughed. "What makes you think that? Am I sporting a beard?"

At midnight, Severus stopped rolling about on the precious red bedsheet and got up again with an exasperated groan. He grasped one of his boots and stomped across the room to the door.

* * *

In the morning, first thing even before clothing himself properly was to go for that lone boot in the corridor. Severus cursed himself for being so childish. He blamed it on the boredom of castle routine that he was falling for a game that involved shoes and a DADA teacher disguised as cryptic entity.

He opened the door and stared into a cold stone tube filled with darkness. His boot was standing on the floor before him. He bent forward: It seemed empty. Hadn't he been well-behaved enough? _Well, at least the boot had been decent, seeing that it hadn't vanished over night. _Severus softly clicked his tongue. What nonsense – Agnes was probably standing somewhere in the dark, nearly falling about with restrained laughter at the sight of the Potions Master in his pyjamas. He glared into the black air and listened.

Nothing.

He closed the door again, returned to his bedroom. Maybe it _did_ matter which of them one chose to put outside. Severus sat down on the bed and regarded the boot pensively. Then he sticked his hand inside. He felt, and grasped an edge of paper. It was a small envelope, on it an elegantly curved handwriting: _Hojari._ It was filled with whitish clumps of different size, which exuded a faint, resinous scent.

The Potions Master payed a visit to the library long before breakfast started. He consulted the index first, which sent him to the section of Arabian transcripts. It didn't take him long: _Hojari_ was a grade term for _Boswellia sacra_ resin, aka Arabian frankincense. He was reading about its use in woundhealing. There even was a report discussing its effect on nervous diseases. It was by pure intuition that he decided to distill the frankincense oil and experiment with it.

An idea hit him while he was on his way to the Great Hall. How about creating a fragrance that was effective against migraine? It would mean that one wouldn't have to take anything in, just rubbing in the fragrance on the temples should suffice. Essential clove oil came into Snape's mind, and tea tree oil, too.

And frankincense.

The mood at the High Table was unusually joyous. It turned out that every teacher who was staying at Hogwarts had placed a boot outside their door, and in the morrow every single one of them had found a small, personal gift inside.

"Did Saint Nicholas get you anything, too?" he asked Agnes.

Her eyes were sparkling icicles on the first warm day in spring. "A lot of fun!"


	6. A Moment of Beauty

**6) A Moment of Beauty**

Snape emerged from the Dungeons again on the evening after the students had left Hogwarts for the Christmas break. Before that, he had literally locked himself up. His mandatory appearances before the student body had provided scarce proof that the Potions Master was physically present in the castle, though his mind had been elsewhere all along. He had moved almost exclusively between his classroom and his bedroom, thereby always pausing at the distillation setup in his office. He had spent hours in the evenings heating up resins and alcoholic infusions of dried plants in round-bottom flasks, dividing watery fractions from oily ones, and examining all of them with regard to their scent, colour, quality. The optimum composition of ingredients was an aromatic jigsaw puzzle he had been determined to complete, and all the while he had been uncaring for his social environment, uncaring even to check on Agnes's wellbeing at the New Moon, and just absently eating anything the frowning Headmaster had ordered the houselves to serve him. And at last he had the success for himself and a gift for Agnes.

Agnes, wrapped in her winter coat, pencil in hand, sat in a corner near the windows, bent over the newspaper. To her left, a thin veil of steam rose up from a thick-walled mug. She glanced up when he sat down opposite her. "There you are again! I thought maybe you got lost in your cellar?"

Snape smirked and pointed at the tea pot. "Earl Grey?"

"White and Gingko. Help yourself." She watched him as he poured the amber liquid. "You have the air of someone who has achieved a major breakthrough!"

His mind's inner eye saw a ruby cream gliding across the inside of a small flacon like oil. "I can't deny!"

"Care to tell me about it?"

He added a drop of milk. "No."

Agnes arched an eyebrow, but did not inquire further. She turned her attention back to the newspaper instead. It was the page with riddles. Snape put his elbow on the table and enjoyed the solitude of an empty Hall. The Christmas decorations were glittering in the candle light. The warm air ascending from the little flames was softly playing with the golden stars and spheres. Peacefulness was accentuated by the ever-present, faint sounds produced by the castle and its inhabitants. He felt very calm, and satisfied. He was emptied of all woes concerning his experiments, ready to give the result away.

Agnes was impatiently knocking on the table with her pencil. "These English language riddles drive me crazy," she said. "Here: _Someone crying over a glass of spilt milk_...I never knew that this someone is supposed to have a special name. Or this here: _Misplaced mangoes_ – what are these?"

Snape stood and rounded the table. Looking over her shoulder he said, "maybe you should try the Polygon instead."

"Oh, yes, sure – eight-letter words only, what! Must be easy. It asks fora_ tarnished suit of armor_!" Agnes sticked out her tongue.

"It is disappointing to see how foreigners refuse to acknowledge British culture," said Snape. "Cryptic Crosswords is one of its icons, after all."

"I feel better with the logic riddles. _Number Place_, for example."

Snape turned around and gazed through the windows. The glittering sky looked as icy as clear. The temperatures were dropping rather fast, ideal conditions for the blossoming of ice flowers on the window panes. "Perhaps there is something that would interest you more than word games..."

"Eh?"

"Yes, an outdoor endeavour! You know, there will be a full moon on the twentythird, and you could come with me and watch some rare creatures in the forest, fur bearing beasts that will present their features best under that clear, fully illuminated moon – "

Agnes nearly jumped up behind him. "Severus Snape, if you think that I am going to let you risk your life just for sneeking after a bunch of howling-"

"Mooncalves?" interjected Snape, regarding her over his shoulder with a smirk. "I wasn't aware they howled too. I always thought they only danced." Privately, he noted that Agnes had definitely been concerned about his own wellbeing. He felt her watching him. He'd have given a lot to learn what she was thinking.

Eventually, she joined him at the window, bending a little towards him as she leaned forward and held her hand against the pane. Both of them stood in silence, watching the glistening winter outside.

"Mooncalves..." she echoed softly. She was next to him now, her coat brushing his robes. Her right shoulder touched his left arm as she moved slightly.

Her face, her hands, her scent had never been closer to him. Snape's heart was turning sumersaults. Trembling with nervousness, he raised his hand to tentatively touch hers.

Her hand jerked only a little, but he could see that she was standing as breathlessly as he was. For a terrible moment, he thought she might turn around and slap him on the face. But she didn't.

Both stood unmoving, waiting for something to happen. Snape had the ludicrous image of two statues unseeingly watching the seasons' change for all eternity, because they had never managed to escape a frozen, infinitely thrilling moment. Someone had to say something.

The Something was Pandemonium, mainly caused by Hagrid and his voice. "Close the castle!" he roared in the Entrance Hall. "Close the castle!"

The charm between the two black figures broke. Agnes's hand slipped away from under his as she whirled around. "What the hell...?"

Outside, McGonagall was sending two of the handful of remaining students off to their Common Rooms. They heard the rattling sound of the entrance closing. The Gamekeeper stormed into the Great Hall like a natural disaster. Golden spheres fell from the Christmas trees and smashed on the ground.

Snape took a deep breath. "Hagrid!" he yelled at him, the pent-up tension finally finding an outlet. "What, in Merlin's Beard, is going on?"

Hagrid stared at him with wild eyes. "A Chimaera!" he uttered.

_Chimaeras. Highly dangerous beasts with two heads and a snake as a tail. Body and one head of a lion, the other head of a goat. No successful defeat so far. 5X-rated._ "Where is it?" asked Snape.

"Out and abou' on t'Grounds, Severus. Fang's all scared and whimpering, me's looking out of t'window – there it is just strolling by an' down to the lake!"

"I have to go to the Library!" Agnes suddenly said. "I have to check something on the matter." She turned on her heels and left them at an instant, nearly bumping into Flitwick and Dumbledore as she left the Great Hall.

Snape didn't have much time to marvel about Agnes's rapid action, as Dumbledore summoned an on-the-spot counsel. "This is a very remarkable event," he said. "Do any of you have experience with Chimaeras, or do you even have any idea about how it could have entered the grounds?"

The teachers looked at each other, and then both Flitwick and Snape rested their gaze on Hagrid.

The gamekeeper shook his head. "No, that is nothin' to do with me! I'd never 'ave a thin' like this one!" He appeared scandalized by their inquisitive and accusing stare.

_No,_ thought Snape, _Hagrid could be reckless in his choice of pets, but he wasn't mad._

"Has anyone seen Pomona? She's not in the greenhouses still, is she?" asked Dumbledore.

"Pomona is in the castle. She gave me notice," said Flitwick.

"Chimaeras are egg-hatching!" exclaimed Hagrid. "It came in as an egg!"

"Let's hope it was only one egg," said Dumbledore.

"How would it come in as an egg?" asked Snape aloud. But he didn't wait for an answer. He had just gripped the loose end of a thought string.

"Should we contact the Ministry?" asked Flitwick.

_An unfamiliar spider species crawling across the backyard of the kitchens. Agnes's fingers holding wood shavings..._

"No. If possible we should keep this affair within Hogwarts, Gentlemen."

_...Tomatoes from Poland..._

"I have already asked Minerva to close the Owlery..."

"Greek Grapes!" Snape cried out.

The others gasped. "Come again?" asked Dumbledore.

"Greek Grapes!" reiterated Snape. "There's a stack of boxes in the kitchen backyard that came from Greece. The egg could have come with them!"

Hagrid's eyes widened. "Righ', it ran off to t'forest when it was wee. An' now it's back 'cause it's hungry!"

"Filius, Hagrid. Could you watch the Chimaera and see where it goes? Perhaps we could hold it somewhere with a charm?" Both nodded. "The house elves must be notified to check those boxes," said Dumbledore. "I myself will see to it." He turned his head. "Severus?"

"I have to go to the Library," said Snape.

* * *

Agnes emerged from the bookshelves just as he entered Miss Pince's Holy Halls. "At least it's not a Lethifold," she said, tucking a piece of parchment into her coat pocket. "I'm not exactly good in casting a _Patronus_." 

"Have you been successful in what ever you were looking up?"

"Oh, yes. I have found all that I need!"

"Precisely what do you need for what?" asked Snape, when they were on the stairs again.

Agnes smiled her wee smile. "Trade secret!" she replied.

Snape stopped and glared at her. To him she projected the air of a hunter who wants to have the game for himself. "You are going for that beast!" he said flatly.

Agnes proceeded downwards unmovedly. The voices of Dumbledore and McGonagall drifted out from the Great Hall. Snape caught up with her again when she was about to enter. "Agnes, this is dangerous! You can't do it alone!"

Agnes looked up at him, her eyes suddenly showing a hard gleam. "Why not?"

Snape took a breath, but hesitated. He didn't want to discuss this before the others. He didn't want them to hear that he was concerned about her safety. Privately concerned. Besides, he really didn't want to spoil the opportunity of action for her. But there was also that jinx on her post...

Agnes sneered. A terribly refusing expression. Loud enough, she said "The sooner we get rid of it, the better. We don't want it to scare your Mooncalves away!"

"You are interested in Mooncalves, Severus?" asked McGonagall. "You never cease to surprise me."

"It's not me who is interested in them," he replied, throwing a hateful glance at Agnes, "Pomona is."

"Pomona?"

"Yes, I was thinking of a Christmas present for her. Mooncalf dung is exceptionally rich."

"Lovely! Are you going to deliver it by owl?"

Dumbledore chuckled, but his remark was swallowed by a loud bang and a dazzling flash. Into the shocked silence fell a golden feather. "Oh, it seems that Filius has locked in the chimaera," the old wizard announced.

"Wonderful!" said Agnes. "With your permission, Headmaster, I can do the rest."

Dumbledore regarded her thoughtfully. "How are you planning to do it, Agnes?"

"I know an ancient charm," she said. "Actually, it's a combination of two charms that leads to a very powerful incantation. It works on Manticores, and I have good reason to assume that it will also govern a chimaera." She peered towards the windows. "If you can provide illumination, we could start right away. The spook could be over in an hour or two."

Snape had to admit that her determination was persuasive. The Headmaster agreed.

* * *

"I need something to ride on!" said Agnes. 

It was freezing cold in the Northern wind that gained strength every minute. The boughs of the Whomping Willow' were swaying, soon it would be hard to say if it was beating or being beaten. They were standing on the hill and looked down at the brightly illuminated Quidditch Pitch. It had taken some time for Flitwick to activate the magical lights without allowing the beast to escape through the lowered shielding.

"Take a broom!" suggested Snape. The excitement of the upcoming event had overridden his displeasure about Agnes's behaviour towards him. She was going to risk her life now, and that counted more than any hurtful debate. There was a silent agreement between them that they disagreed, but for now, that had given way to professional discussion.

"No. I will need all my energy just to keep myself warm."

Snape thought for a moment. "How about Thestrals? Can you see them?"

Agnes blinked. "Yes, a Thestral is okay for me. In fact, it's a perfect choice!"

"I'll go and tell Hagrid."

"No, I'll do that myself. Please, stay here. This way you can guarantee, that no student sneeks out of the castle and onto the pitch." She frowned. "I know they are terribly curious, and a student is currently not what I want to see."

"As you wish," said Snape. Now was the last chance to warn her. "Agnes, there is something else that you should be aware of."

"And what would that be?"

"The post. The DADA teacher's post. I don't know whether Dumbledore did explain to you properly-"

"That it is jinxed?" She pulled up the collar of her coat. "No, he did not tell me properly, but do you think I'm daft?" she said, her lips and eyes all mischief and challenge. "You couldn't possibly have killed them all!"

She turned away to walk down the path, but then she paused. She rummaged in her pockets and eventually pulled out the piece of parchment from the Library. "Here! This is the incantation that I will use. If I fail, one of you can try it. There is only one go for every one."

Snape took the parchment. It bore the same handwriting as the envelope that had contained the frankincence.

"And I'm sorry about what just happened, back in the castle. I can get nasty when someone is building up obstacles in front of me." The words were torn away by the wind.

"Never mind!" muttered Snape, still regarding the spell. "What do you mean _only one go_?" But Agnes was already heading down the hill.

Half an hour later Snape saw a shadow rising above the forest. It was barely visible in the night sky, but when it reached the pitch he was confirmed: It was a Thestral. Agnes directed it above the center of the pitch, looked down and then moved windward, away from the beast on the ground. They hovered in the air, waiting for Flitwick to give the sign that the shield was down. Agnes crouched on the Thestral, turning her face away from the wind. Snape could imagine that it had to be terribly cold, exposed as she was there. A sparkling green light in the sky, and Agnes dived downwards.

From his spot, he couldn't see what was going on on the ground, but he could watch Agnes flying about in the air, decending out of view and emerging again. He was anxious, always relieved when he saw her again, although the roaring of the beast meant that she had not been successful yet.

Agnes apparantly took her time. If she really had only one try, she had to cast carefully.

* * *

Waiting became unbearable. After casting the third warming spell on his toes he decided to get nearer to the pitch so that he could enter as soon as the Chimaera was finished. Agnes had told them that she would conjure a light flash if she could or had to get through the shield again. 

The beast's noise grew louder and angrier the closer he came, drowning the scrunching sound of his steps in the dry snow. Suddenly there was a vast flash that ascended quickly into the night, diminishing the hard shadows of the stands until it bathed Snape in blazing, blue light. Nearly at the same time an earsplitting gnashing, combined with a gigantic roar. Then stunning silence.

Nothing could be heard from inside the pitch. Snape was impatiently waiting for a sign from Agnes. Hagrid approached and stood next to him. They looked at each other. "Let's go in, Hagrid."

* * *

Agnes was limply sliding down along the landed Thestral's side just as they entered. Some distance away, a huge, bulky form lay on the ground. "You wait here, Professor." Hagrid cautiously approached it, then turned away and waved his arm. The Chimaera was dead. 

Snape ran. The Thestral trotted away as he crouched down behind Agnes. She was lying in the snow, very still. "Is it dead?" Her voice sounded raspy.

"Yes it's dead. Well done, Agnes." He was afraid that she was getting too cold. "You looked like Goddess Diana on a Flying Carpet, Congratulations and all, but now we'll have to get you away. Can you get up?"

She stirred slightly. Then, as the Thestral moved about and briefly cast its shadow down on her, she paused. Snape could hear a suppressed, dry sob. "It's magnificent!" she breathed.

He had to bend over her to see that she was looking at the Thestral. A bell was ringing in the back of his mind. It could only mean that she had never before seen a Thestral. _But why would she see it now? You wouldn't see a Thestral because you watched a Chimaera die, would you? And there was this other aspect. She had lied to him, in a fashion. _But that was of no importance now. "Yes, it's great," he said. "Let's get you out of here, now!"

Agnes didn't reply. Her eyes were fixed on the Thestral. He flinched as Hagrid spoke up next to him. "Madam Pomfrey an' her equipment are comin' down the Hill!"

"Agnes?"

Scrunching sounds beside him. "Injuries?"

"No, nothing obvious. She doesn't respond, though!"

"Let me see...Professor Kranewitter, can you hear me? Severus, would you please hand me the _Digitalis_...Professor Kranewitter, stay with me. Look at me! Thanks, Sev-"

"Darn, she's out, Poppy!"

"Don't touch her now, I have to revive her!"

"She's blinkin'!"

"Very well! Agnes, open your mouth, please! Only a few drops..."

"Severus...I'm not afraid...you..."

"Agnes!? Poppy, look...she's sailing off again!"

"I can see that myself. Don't touch her! _Rennervate_..._Rennervate!!_"

"It didn't work! Agnes!!...Damn it, come back!"

"Severus!! Hagrid, could you please..."

* * *

_Parting is all we know of heaven, and all we need of hell, _had the Headmaster said. 

And Snape knew he was right. There was always opportunity for a little piece of hell to jump out from behind the reality's scenery and sting him. Like when he was supervising Lupin's class and read about Kappas in Japan. He corrected it immediately, which earned him an incredulous glare from Granger. _Ah, Granger, you will learn someday that there is an error in every compendium. Even in Potions you would find them. _Snape sneered. He had a fine nose. The faint scent of _Kranewitter's Fluidum_ was hovering in the room. The new migraine solution had become a success right after it had been published, but the inventor remained obscure to the public. Smelling the Fluidum was Snape's little piece of heaven. A glimpse into eternity, to someone unforgotten.

**ENDE**

* * *

_Thanks to GoneRoundTheBend __and Carnimirë Nairiel __at HPANA for providing beta services._

_The Headmaster's cited line in the last part of the story is an Emily Dickinson quote._


End file.
